I really effed it up this time (didn't I, my dear?)
by Tarafina
Summary: He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have let this happen. He was staring at her, standing there looking like a broken doll, and it all felt so wrong. [Part II of Broken Hearts and Betrayal Series]


**Title**: I really fucked it up this time (didn't I, my dear?)  
**Series**: Broken Hearts and Betrayal (Part 2 of ?)  
**Category**: Arrow  
**Genre**: Angst/Romance  
**Ship**: Felicity/Oliver  
**Rating**: Teen/PG-13  
**Word Count**: 6,010  
**Summary**: He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have let this happen. He was staring at her, standing there looking like a broken doll, and it all felt so wrong.

**_I really fucked it up this time (didn't I, my dear?)  
_**-1/1-

He heard her coming. He always did.

He smiled reflexively, his gaze still set on the cityscape below. He'd unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and loosened his lynch-like tie. It wasn't rare for him to take a break from CEO duties, slipping away from the busy event hall to take a moment to himself. He stopped beside Felicity, who was deep in conversation with one of the company lawyers, and bent to her ear to let her know he was going upstairs. His hand found her hip as he leaned into her, fingers flexing. He was momentarily distracted by the wafting scent of her perfume. It wasn't cloying or overly floral like some perfumes; it was light, blending in enough that he had to really inhale to catch it. He watched her put it on just a few hours ago as she walked around his bedroom in nothing but the lace underwear set she called her 'lucky ones.' He grinned at the memory, at how she'd shimmied a little dance as she sang under her breath, dabbing her perfume on her neck and a line down her cleavage before rubbing it into her wrists and closing the bottle.

It was expensive, one of the few things she let herself have without worrying about the cost. She didn't let him buy things like that, and if he did it had to be for big events, like Hannukah or birthdays (hers, not his, they had that argument twice before). Never just because. He assumed it was because she couldn't afford to buy him things right back, at least not at the cost he would usually pay. He didn't need her to buy him gifts, though. He liked giving her things, liked knowing that she had, not just what she needed but, what she wanted, and he was the one providing it. It was only right. She gave him so much that he could never repay her, not with all the perfume or jewelry in the world.

She squeezed his arm as he left, a silent understanding that he needed some space. She would fend off questions about where he went for as long as she could, letting him gather himself, his thoughts, before he had to put the public mask back on and play nice with others. He would much rather take her home, strip off that pretty silk dress and let his mouth wander over all those sweet spots she'd dabbed her perfume. They could go to her place, where his expensive suit somehow fit right alongside her Mickey Mouse pajamas in the laundry basket. If it was early enough, maybe they would watch a movie, fall asleep on the couch with her mumbling random trivia under her breath about the characters and the actors who played them.

He was looking forward to that, enough that he was almost ready to go back downstairs and play host. It'd been over an hour already… She probably got caught up talking to someone about the tech department. She wasn't happy to still be playing his assistant, but he liked having her close. It comforted him. Eighteen floors was too far away, especially if something happened. They'd already been attacked at Queen Consolidated more than once. If somebody got to her and he was too far away, he'd never forgive himself.

He heard her coming before he saw her.

It was a game of theirs. She was constantly trying to sneak up on him, going so far as taking her heels off to mask her footsteps. But he was too aware not to hear even her most silent approach. She wasn't trying as hard tonight; he heard heels coming his way from as close as her desk. They were extra loud in the quiet of his office. He didn't turn, letting her get as close as possible. He waited for it, the welcome warmth of her against his back, her hands sliding around his waist. There was something infinitely intimate and vulnerable about having Felicity at his back. He trusted her, never flinching or tensing up when she was near. If anything, he relaxed to a point he hadn't known in far too long.

But when her arms never found him, he went still.

He turned his head, expecting to see blonde hair and bright lipstick, maybe a glass of her favorite red wine to help him relax.

Instead, he found brown waves and a conflicted frown.

Laurel.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared up at him, walking a little closer as she wrung her hands.

This wasn't the first time he'd seen Laurel since they broke up, it was just the first time they were really alone. They'd both moved on and, given how things had been for him since that break up, he knew it was the right decision. But that didn't mean he didn't love her; he was sure he always would. He just wasn't banking his future on her like he once had. Being in love with someone and loving them were two entirely different feelings, and he'd made peace with that.

"Laurel…?" He glanced past her to the door, trying to find the words to ask what she was doing there. He stumbled for a moment, donning his public mask abruptly and feeling off-kilter because of it. It was these things, these small moments, where he remembered why they hadn't worked. He wasn't real with her, and it became blatantly clear in situations when he had to change to fit her expectations of him.

"Michael and I broke up," she blurted out suddenly.

He felt a sigh in his chest, but he didn't let it loose. "I'm sorry to hear that," he offered sincerely.

She nodded, biting her lip. It took her a moment as she tried to gather her thoughts, figuring out what she wanted to tell him. "The thing is… He thinks I was holding back. That… I wasn't a hundred percent dedicated to the relationship. And I wasn't. I… I _tried_ to be, but things are so… They're so complicated." She blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I thought it was Tommy at first. I… I can't help but wonder sometimes, what it might be like, you know? Would— Would we be together now, or would we have fallen apart? I—I don't know and…"

He went to reach for her, to offer condolences or a hug. Even now, two years after Tommy's death, the mere mention of his name stabbed his heart.

She waved her hands, keeping him at a distance as she shook her head. "But it's not. It's not Tommy, because I know, I—I've accepted that he's gone..." She raised her head slowly, peering up at him. "Which means the only other option is that it's _you_."

He retracted his hand then, letting it fall to his side, his gaze following suit. There was a time when those were the only words he wanted to hear. He wanted her to love him back, to see how much he'd changed, how prepared he was to be everything she deserved. But that felt like so long ago, like a different him entirely. And that was the point. There were already too many facets of him on display; he was always struggling with who he was and who he was supposed to be. He had a public image to keep, a personal one for his family, a much darker part of himself as Arrow, and then there was who he tried to be for Laurel. It was too much. It was exhausting. He was tired of trying so hard to be what she wanted, all the while knowing that it would never really make up for his shortcomings, for his past mistakes. And that didn't even touch on the subject of his ongoing lie to her about his true identity, hiding the fact that it was him protecting the city behind a green, leather hood.

"Laurel…"

"No, wait," she stopped him, taking a step closer. "I know. I know that you're happy with Felicity… I see it. I see how you are with her. I see how much more relaxed you are with her." She winced, her eyes falling. "And it hurts… I'm not _blind_, Ollie. I know you're different with me. I know we don't always fit and you have to try harder with me… That's not her fault, it's not yours. We tried, we tried really hard, and it just didn't work, and that's… It's fine. But I- I feel like I'm still holding on to you. Or the idea of you. Or _something_. I just… I just need to let you go so I can move on."

He stared down at searchingly, brow furrowed. He didn't understand what she wanted from him. His blessing? A sign that he wanted to keep trying? Because she was right, he was happy with Felicity. If anybody had been blind, it was him, for too long. Eight months ago, he was still desperate to do anything to make it work with Laurel, but when they broke up and agreed that it was final, he found he was relieved. There wasn't supposed to be anymore 'what if's.' No more second-guessing whether he'd be happier if he just had Laurel back.

Things were easy with Felicity in some ways. If he didn't get all of his paint off, he didn't have to panic; Felicity would reach up, smiling all the while, and wipe it away for him. If he had to leave suddenly, she understood. Most of the time, she came with him. After a long day, he could tell her every part of it. He could lay his head in her lap and tell her about the god-awful conference he had in the morning and the even worse night of tracking down criminals that left him with aching ribs and a throbbing headache, all the while relaxing into her fingers scrubbing gently over his scalp. If he wanted to sleep in, he didn't have to make something up for why he was so tired; she was still at the foundry when he came back at four in the morning, waiting for him, crawling into bed by his side and more than willing to spend the next morning sleeping until it was afternoon.

But it wasn't just convenience that made them work. Sometimes he looked at her and he wondered how he ever managed to get someone as smart and beautiful as she was to give him the time of day. How lucky he was that he had someone so loyal at his side. How phenomenally grateful he was that this remarkable woman never flinched at his scars, physical or mental. Felicity was a stunning combination of everything he loved and wanted. There were days that he woke up reaching for her, worried that it was a dream. There were nights that came to close to ending his life where all he needed was to see her, to hold her, to remind himself that he was still there, he was off the island, he was out of purgatory, and he had somewhere safe to go, someone good to get him there.

He didn't doubt that he loved Felicity completely. He only doubted that he was worth all of the energy and love she put into him.

Standing in front of Laurel, he wondered if the reason he worked so hard at being with her was because some days she was just as flawed as he was. She was holding on to the idea of him as much as he had been holding on to the idea of her. She was the embodiment of his redemption, of his guilt and sorrow, and if he held on to her then he never forgot what he did on that island and the lives that he'd cost. But he couldn't survive on that, he couldn't continue with the yo-yo of together and not together. He wasn't happy with her. He wasn't free or comfortable or honest with her.

When she stepped closer, he watched her. She reached for him, her hand smoothing down the lapels of his jacket. "I just need to say goodbye… To put you behind me…" She looked up at him, conflicted and tired. So tired. "I need to know that it's done and over with completely… Can you understand that?"

He could. But at the same time he pitied her for it. While he'd let go of her, she was still struggling, still letting those confusing ideas of what she wanted and what she thought she wanted drive her decisions. Maybe Michael hadn't been the one for her, but Oliver knew he wasn't either.

The mistake he made in that moment was one he would never forget, and always regret.

He didn't stop her when she lifted up onto the tips of her toes. He felt her breath fan over his lips and he didn't step back, he didn't push her away. He just stood there, still as a statue, watching as she tilted her head up. He didn't meet her either; he didn't bend to find her lips or bury his fingers in her hair, and he didn't feel the need to. He felt disconnected as the seconds passed, as she stared up at him with that searching desperation. And then her lips slanted over his, moving, seeking, reaching for that passion that used to build up between them until he couldn't breathe.

She didn't find it.

There was a time when passion was the strongest emotion between them. Even when she was angry with him, when she hated him, neither of them could deny that there had been passion. But those flames had flickered and died a long time ago, long before they'd finally broken up. He let her search for them though, telling himself that it was okay, that she just needed to realize what he already knew. It was gone. They were over. There was nothing between them anymore for her to hold on to.

It could have been seconds or minutes, he didn't really know, but there was a noise, an echo in his head that clicked, and suddenly he wasn't so disconnected.

He was kissing Laurel. He was in his office while the building was filled with people, one of whom loved and trusted him implicitly, and he was kissing Laurel. His hands found her shoulders and held her in place as he stepped back. Her lips were swollen, her chin a little red from where she'd moved, her skin rasping against his stubble. It looked wrong and his stomach swooped with guilt. He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have let this happen. He was staring at her, standing there looking like a broken doll, and it all felt so wrong.

But then she was smiling, even as her tears finally escaped and slid down her cheeks. She dabbed the backs of her hands against them to wipe them away without ruining her make-up and he was reminded of Felicity, of how she never thought of that and messed up her make-up without thinking of how ridiculous she might look after. There had been more than one evening he'd returned from patrolling with some wound or another and found her crying when she wasn't sure how bad it had been. Raccoon eyes were an apt description, her mascara running and her eyes smudged as she hurried toward him.

Aside from a little redness around her eyes, Laurel looked the picture of perfection. She raised her chin proudly and nodded. "Nothing," she said, her lips curling up at the corner though he could see they were trembling a little. "Is that… Is that what it feels like for you?"

He frowned, his gaze falling. "Laurel, I… I'll _always_ love you, but…"

"But you're not _in_ _love_ with me," she murmured knowingly. "I know… I can feel it." She rolled her eyes, reaching up to swipe away an errant tear. "I can _see _it."

He sighed, feeling that same old need to comfort her, to explain himself.

"You don't have to." She stared up at him earnestly. "This is on me. This is… I… I didn't mean to do this, honestly. I just… I thought I was doing better. I thought I was happier with Michael. But then I'd see you with Felicity and I just… I don't _have _that and I want to. I want to have that in my life and I needed to know that it wasn't with you. I needed to know that I wasn't holding on to you so hard that I wasn't letting myself move on. And now I can… Now I don't have to wonder."

He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's… It's good, right? I mean… We weren't happy together. We were always fighting. We… We have so much history, most of it bad, and then there's Tommy… It was a sign, I think. All of it. It was like the universe was sending me this huge, blinking, warning sign that we weren't supposed to be together and I just… _ignored it_. For so long, I tried to tell myself that it had to be for a reason. There had to be some kind of pay off in the end for all of that turmoil. But there wasn't. There was just more hurt and confusion and… and it's always going to be hard between us. But it shouldn't. If we were supposed to be together, I don't think it would be this hard."

He nodded. "So what now?"

"Now…" She forced a smile. "Now I spend some time on my own, finding _me _again. No men. Just… Just some time to get back on my feet. And when I'm ready, yeah, I'll start looking for that person that makes me happy…" She blew out a heavy breath. "You know, you're lucky, Oliver… You and Felicity, what you have… I wasn't envious for no reason."

He smiled faintly. Part of him wanted to agree, to tell her that he knew that, he knew how lucky he was that Felicity had even given him a chance. But Laurel was pouring out her heart, and he didn't think telling her he was aware of how blessed he was to have someone special in his life would make her feel any better.

Now that she mentioned it, however, he found himself looking at the clock. It was well after the time it usually took for Felicity to come calling. He couldn't imagine how she'd kept the other guests from looking for him after all this time. Shifting his feet, he felt uneasy then; a note of foreboding settled deep in his bones. Felicity was a creature of habit; she rarely gave him much longer than an hour just because she knew how much people started to gossip about his absence.

He glanced back at Laurel to find her in the middle of talking and his brows rose as he tuned back in.

"…I should let you get back to what you were doing. I'm sorry I blindsided you with all of this…" She shook her head. "But thank you, Oliver, really. I know I put you in an awkward position and I never meant to."

He nodded, but silently argued with himself over who was really to blame for the situation. He had control, didn't he? He could've pulled back at any point and he didn't. How would Felicity react when he told her what happened? Laurel wasn't an easy subject with her. She was half-convinced he was just biding his time until Laurel changed her mind. He was already starting to come up with ways to tell her while making sure she understood that his feelings hadn't changed, he wanted to be with Felicity, when Laurel started walking away.

She glanced back at him, a sad half-smile turning up her lips, and he offered the same in return.

She only paused when she reached the door, a faint crackle drawing her attention. His eyes fell to find a small card crushed under the heel of her shoe. Bending, she picked it up, her brow furrowed.

"_Peanut-Free_," she read. "Did you special order some of the catering…? That was nice of you."

Oliver swore he felt his heart stop in his chest for a second. It squeezed tightly as the pieces fell into place. She was never late. She would've come looking for him by now. That noise, that faint tickling to his senses that brought him back to the situation and finally made him step away from Laurel. That feeling that something was wrong gnawing at his gut. And the small note card he'd asked the catering company to put on all of the dishes that were made with her allergy in mind.

She'd been there, at possibly the worst moment.

She'd seen the kiss.

The world shifted under his feet, enough that he fell sideways, bracing himself against his desk. He couldn't imagine what she must have been thinking, what conclusions she'd come to. All of those insecurities, those uncertainties about their relationship and his feelings, both for her and for Laurel, must have just drowned her.

Panic set in quickly. He pushed off the desk with purpose and hurried toward the door.

"Oliver?" he heard Laurel call, but he didn't have the time or inclination to explain.

He rushed to the elevator, stabbing the down button. Ages seemed to pass as he waited for the doors to open. He was just about ready to take the stairs when the elevator finally dinged. He raced inside and hit the button for the floor the conference was on. Maybe there was enough time. Maybe she hadn't left. Maybe she'd let him explain. He tried to order his thoughts, how he was going to explain what would happen. But what _had _happened?

Laurel was upset, she was second-guessing whether she had leftover feelings for him, she was just coming off a bad break up. She asked him for something, a sign that she was over him, that there was no reason to hold out hope for anything. Did she need to kiss him? Did he need to let her? It was wrong. He knew that. He knew it was wrong. He felt it when it was happening, but he didn't stop it.

The thing was, the first time he kissed Felicity, everything fell into place for him. The first time they slept together, he remembered lying awake next to her afterwards, her glasses on his bedside table and her hair in a chaotic mess of curls around her hair. She talked in her sleep, about computers and viruses and firewalls. And him. She said his name and she smiled. For so long, the only dreams he had were nightmares. But when she thought of him, when she dreamt of him, it was only good things.

He knew then and there that whatever he had with Laurel, it was over. He liked who he was with Felicity. The edginess that seemed to follow him everywhere faded. It was the first time he slept the whole night through, not one nightmare, and woke up feeling really and truly rested. There was peace with Felicity. Peace that he'd now rocked the foundation of.

When he reached the conference room, he was anxious, searching the sea of faces for one familiar, blonde, IT expert. He looked for her favorite staff, trying to find her amongst their groups. He searched the food line, briefly hoping she hadn't seen them at all and was instead distracted by the buffet that'd been set out. But she wasn't anywhere. He caught sight of one of the senior analysts she favored and quickly intercepted him.

"Have you seen Felicity Smoak?" he wondered, his voice hard, demanding.

He nodded slowly, chewing quickly through the mouthful of food he'd been enjoying. "Sure. She just left. She said something about a family emergency. Pretty frazzled, if you ask me. I hope everything's okay…?"

Oliver gritted his teeth and turned his back on the man, making his way back to the elevators to take them down to the main hall. He called for a cab as he went. Diggle had the night off and Felicity had driven them over in her car. He could still remember her fixing his bow tie for him, telling him it was 'cool' with one of those funny, inside-joke, smiles of hers.

Standing in the elevator, he impatiently watched the numbers change far too slowly. He ran out when the doors finally opened, racing through the front lobby and pushing out the door, ignoring the security guards that called after him. He raised his arm at the cab just pulling up and hopped in the back, rattling off the address.

His fingers tapped his knee as they wove through the streets, in and out of lines of backed up traffic. Every time a car's brake lights flashed in front of him, he ground his teeth. He was tempted to just climb out and run the rest of the way to her apartment, but as much as traffic was an issue, the cab would still make it to her place long before he could. It didn't stop him from sighing, loud enough for the driver to hear, as if he hoped the cabbie would somehow find a quicker way to get him there.

He dragged a hand down his face and glared out the window, all the while cursing the fact that Digg had warned him this would happen.

_"You're going to hurt her, Oliver… You might not mean to, but you will. And then what? Huh?"_

He didn't know. He didn't know how to fix this or how to make it right. Anything he said wasn't going to be enough, he knew that. He could almost imagine it. The betrayal she must have felt. The hollow ache when all of her worst fears came true right in front of her eyes. His stomach twisted and turned, flipping over angrily. Bile bit at his throat and he could already feel it. He could feel her slipping out of his fingers before he even had a chance to see her face. He could imagine the disappointment etched where her smile used to be. He could clearly see in his mind the way she would deflate, how all of the sunny hope he loved about her would just fade out. And he caused that. He broke that.

She was going to leave him.

The car came to a quick halt and he threw cash at the driver, not bothering to check what he'd left, assuming it was more than enough. He dug his keys out of his pocket as he climbed the stairs to the front door. He had two ready, one with a pink nail polish spot on it and the other with her favorite shade of blue; pink was for the building while blue was for her apartment. He remembered her giving them to him.

"_I know you can scale my building, and I've seen you staking out my fire escape more than once, major creep points by the way, but I thought I'd give you something a little more socially acceptable… For those days you're not donning the hood_…_" She folded her lips, brows hiked in question. "Is that… okaaay, or…?"_

_He smiled, holding the keys loosely in his fingers as a warm sensation flooded his chest. "It's great." He raised his eyes to meet hers and his smile became a full blown grin. "Does this mean I can stop by any time I want?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "You already do that, and in case you missed it, I spend most of my nights with a leather-wearing hero, so... You can stop by, but no guarantees I'll be around."_

_"That's all right. Last I checked, I had seven seasons of Doctor Who my girlfriend wanted me to watch."_

_"Well, you made it past the pilot, that's the first challenge. Why stop now?"_

_Chuckling, he reached for her, pulling her close until her head was tucked up under his chin. "Thank you."_

_Arms wrapping around his waist, she squeezed. "Well, you've been ninjaing your way inside for three years. This just seemed practical."_

_He bent to kiss her hair. "Thank you for trusting me," he said quietly._

_Tipping her head back, she stared up at him, her brow furrowed. "You've never given me a reason not to…" She bit her lip. "Well, no, the near serial killer status was a bit of a downer in the beginning."_

_He laughed abruptly, his head falling back a little._

_She merely grinned. _

_He kissed her smiling lips, all the while squeezing those keys tight in his palm, until they were imprinted in his skin and the promise of her trust in him made its mark_.

He didn't bother with the elevator, he climbed four floors to get to her apartment and already had his key ready. He missed the lock the first time and realized suddenly that his hands were shaking. Adrenaline and fear was making his body vibrate. He stopped for a second, closing his eyes and laying his forehead against her door. He took a deep breath, trying to gather himself, to get his fears, his worries under control.

He could do this. He just needed to explain. He just… He needed her to know that he didn't want Laurel. He screwed up, yes, but it had only reaffirmed the direction he wanted his life to go in. He didn't want a future with Laurel, he wanted it with Felicity. He wanted _everything _with Felicity.

His resolve strengthened then and he pulled back, jamming the blue-marked key into its slot and turning the deadlock. He pushed the door open to find the inside dark, and his stomach swooped again. He reached for the lights, flipping the switch there as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning for any sign of her. Her heels were shucked off by the door, meaning she'd been there, she'd come home. He stepped a little further inside, but stopped abruptly.

There was a box on the table. Nothing special, just a cardboard box filled with a few things. _His _things. He walked towards it slowly, his breathing picking up, his heart hammering in his chest. He reached out until his hand curled around the edge and he looked inside to see the clothes he left there, a spare pair of running shoes, two framed pictures of them, and his ties. He squeezed the edge of the box so tightly that it tore under his grip. When he finally released it, he stepped back, his head swiveling, searching for any other sign of her. He walked into her room, only to find the bed made, just as it had been that morning. He could see her coming home, calmly going through her dresser and closet, collecting his things and folding them as she put them in the box. She wasn't the vindictive, scorned lover who took a pair of scissors to his things or tossed them out the window. And he almost wished she was. He deserved it. Worse, this felt so much more final. She had accepted that things were over and she'd taken precautions to make it so.

He checked her closet and found her favorite pink duffel bag missing. So were her Mickey Mouse pajamas and some of her clothes. He left her room, his shoulders slumping, and ran his hands over his face, his mind already churning out ideas for what he could do. He had his phone out before he could even process his plan. He called the hotels, every one of them, asking if a Felicity Smoak had rented out a room. Then he checked a few of her other aliases, even using her favorite fictional characters, like Martha Jones and Molly Hooper. When that didn't work, he asked if there was anybody who fit her description that had checked in that night, but confidentiality soon hindered that request, and the intimidating voice of Arrow making an appearance only served to get him hung up on. He continued to search, all the while knowing that she was smart enough to cover her tracks.

She wanted space. She'd already made what she wanted known; him gone. And he wanted to respect that, he owed her that. But the idea of leaving, of walking out of her life without at least fighting, felt wrong. So he passed the table where his box sat, where everything that represented him in her house was packed away, waiting to be removed completely. He looked around her apartment, at the couch where they used to eat take-out and watch her favorite TV shows. Where some nights she would just lay her head in his lap as she read one of her books. Where he could fall asleep after a long day, his tie tugged loose and his shoes still on, waking up from his nap to find she'd tucked a throw blanket around him. He looked at her arm chair where he'd sat just last week while she tried to patch up a gash on his side from patrolling; if he looked close enough, he could see the blood that stained the fabric on the arm.

This had been his safe haven for six months. Three years, really. But these last six months between them had been home. This was where he wanted to come at the end of the day. He wanted to be with her, just to fall asleep beside her each night. And now that was gone. _She _was gone.

And he didn't know how long it would be like that. What would she do when she came back? _If _she came back… Was this just the first step in completely cutting ties? Would she leave him and Digg and Queen Consolidated? He couldn't imagine she'd be okay with going on as his assistant after everything. He hadn't thought of those things when they got together. She'd brought them up, he remembered, but he'd kissed her, distracting her from her fears for the moment. He didn't want to think about the 'what if it doesn't work out' scenario because part of him was sure that it would. He should have expected he would ruin it.

He felt dizzy suddenly, like all the stability he'd found was coming out from beneath him. He stumbled back until he hit the wall by the door, and then he was sliding down to the floor into a crouch, accidentally flicking the light switch off as he went. The room fell dark, every previously bright corner now dressed in shadows. He sat silently, dejectedly, staring at nothing in particular until a shaft of moonlight seemed to highlight the only thing out of place in her apartment. The box. He leaned back, his head falling against the wall, and vowed he wouldn't leave until she came home. He could fix this. He _could_. He _would_.

But as he stared at the box, he felt the resounding sound of loss echo in his chest.

For the first time in six months, he felt that overwhelming sense of desolation that the island had left him with. It had taken him three long years to get his life where he wanted it. He had friends, his family, his crusade for justice, and Felicity. And now that last piece was pulling away, and it felt like it was all unraveling. His mouth trembled, but he clenched his teeth to stop it.

He wanted to believe it would be okay, but sitting in her dark, empty apartment, he knew things had irrevocably changed, and he was to blame.

The guilt was overwhelming, it was consuming, and he buried his face in his hands, knowing he would never forgive himself.

[**End**.]

**Sequel posted**: 'I saved you every time (I was a fool for love)'


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